on-tree. There was no one in sight. I
hardly knew what to do.

In the Yildiz Kiosk--I think that was the name of the
place--I scarcely as yet knew my way about. In fact, I
had only been in it a few hours. I had come there--as I
should have explained in commencing--in order to try to
pick up information as to the exact condition of things
in Turkey. For this purpose I had assumed the character
and disguise of an English governess. I had long since
remarked that an English governess is able to go anywhere,
see everything, penetrate the interior of any royal palace
and move to and fro as she pleases without hindrance and
without insult. No barrier can stop her. Every royal
court, however splendid or however exclusive, is glad to
get her. She dines with the King or the Emperor as a
matter of course. All state secrets are freely confided
to her and all military plans are submitted to her
judgment. Then, after a few weeks' residence, she leaves
the court and writes a book of disclosures.

This was now my plan.

And, up to the moment of which I speak, it had worked
perfectly.

I had found my way through Turkey to the royal capital
without difficulty. The poke bonnet, the spectacles and
the long black dress which I had assumed had proved an
ample protection. None of the rude Turkish soldiers
among whom I had passed had offered to lay a hand on me.
This tribute I am compelled to pay to the splendid morality
of the Turks. They wouldn't touch me.

Access to the Yildiz Kiosk and to the Sultan had proved
equally easy. I had merely to obtain an interview with
Codfish Pasha, the Secretary of War, whom I found a
charming man of great intelligence, a master of three or
four languages (as he himself informed me), and able to
count up to seventeen.

"You wish," he said, "to be appointed as English, or
rather Canadian governess to the Sultan?"

"Yes," I answered.

"And your object?"

"I propose to write a book of disclosures."

"Excellent," said Codfish.

An hour later I found myself, as I have said, in a
flag-stoned hall of the Yildiz Kiosk, with the task of
amusing and entertaining the Sultan.

Of the difficulty of this task I had formed no conception.
Here I was at the outset, with the unhappy Abdul bent
and broken with sobs which I found no power to check or
control.

Naturally, therefore, I found myself at a loss. The little
man as he sat on his cushions, in his queer costume and
his long slippers with his fe